I am Jonathan Wild. Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. A faint buzz above the ceiling witnessed that petrography, too, was active. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. Accordingly, he stopped the coach, dismounted, and hastened towards the assemblage, which, he was glad to find, consisted chiefly of a posse of watchmen and other guardians of the night.
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